


The Truth Behind Little Things

by inmyrosegarden



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Canon Compliant, Little things, M/M, Unrequited Love, omg guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:27:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inmyrosegarden/pseuds/inmyrosegarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, Harry's song wasn't meant to be put on their record. Harry's song wasn't meant to say "Written by Ed Sheeran" underneath it. But things happen, and Harry isn't too upset about all this. It's a plus that Louis hasn't figured anything out yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> this is an actual theory of mine...

_October 2011_

“I hate autumn and I hate winter,” Louis mutters as he snuggles into Harry’s side.

Harry hums, picking at a loose thread on Louis’ sweatshirt. “And why’s that? No snowball fights for you?”

Louis sighs and pinches Harry’s tummy. “Not when I look like a fatarse in my winter coat,” he mumbles under his breath.

Harry stops fidgeting with the other boy’s jumper. “Lou?” He asks cautiously, pulling away from Louis so that he can clearly see the expression on the other boy’s face. “You honestly _don’t_ believe that, do you?”

Louis’ cheeks flush and he looks anywhere but into Harry’s eyes. “Believe what?”

“That you’re _fat,_ ” Harry says, unable to mask the shock in his voice.

Louis doesn’t say anything. He just looks at the TV screen quietly, not acknowledging Harry at all.

“Louis,” Harry huffs, putting a hand on each of the boy’s shoulders. “Listen to me, love. You’re perfect the way you are. You’re not fat and you’re not too thin, Lou. You’re perfect.” He kisses his friend’s cheek gently and then rubs his thumb over the spot until Louis melts into the touch.

Finally, the older boy looks at him. Harry smiles a little when he sees Louis bite his lip, trying to hide his own smile.

“Aww Hazza,” Louis coos. “Awfully soppy for 10 in the evening, eh mate?”

Harry flicks Louis’ nose, unable to contain his toothy grin. “Shove it.”

It goes on like that for a while. Louis will make comments about his appearance regarding what he doesn’t like about himself and Harry will rush to shoot him down. He realizes one day that these little things that he loves about his mate aren’t exactly normal things that one adores in his friends. Around the same time, he realizes that his feelings for Louis aren’t exactly platonic.

It’s just that Louis makes him feel special. Louis turns his world upside down and makes everything a thousand watts brighter whenever he walks into a room. Harry can’t help but gravitate towards him all the time. He can’t help but love his best mate in a way that his best mate doesn’t love him.

He starts writing things down, eventually. He doesn’t feel comfortable sharing his thoughts about Louis with anyone, not even Grimmy or Lou. He has a feeling everyone already knows that he’s head over heels for the older boy but for some reason he just doesn’t want to confirm their predictions. He thinks it wouldn’t be fair to tell someone that he loves Louis _before_ he manages to tell Louis.

In all honesty though, Harry doesn’t really think he’ll end up admitting his feelings. He knows for some reason that there’s no way Louis could love him _back_ like that. After all, Louis has a girlfriend and he has never taken well to homosexual comments about himself. He probably just doesn’t swing that way and Harry is fine never figuring out. He would never be able to deal with rejection; he’d probably die. Loving someone who doesn’t love him back has already broken his heart enough, he thinks.

Before Harry knows it, he’s written dozens of pages in tiny, _tiny_ handwriting about how much he loves Louis and what exactly he loves about him.

One night, when Eleanor is over at their flat watching a movie with Louis in the living room, Harry sits alone in his room with a single lamp light on. He opens his leather-bound journal and stares at the pages of _LouisLouisLouis._ His heart aches as he reads over the words, feeling the love that never truly leaves his soul creep up to haunt him. The emotions cut through his heart like a knife and he sheds fat tears of pain, of sadness, thinking _I’m so close, but you’re so far away._

He picks up a pen with wobbly fingers and starts writing a poem on the next blank page. He thinks back to his time on The X Factor and the way he felt when he first met Louis.

He goes back to the tiny bunk in their room on The X Factor house. He sees Louis’ chest, sees himself cradled onto it while their hands lie between them interlocked; a source of comfort. _Your hand fits in mine like it’s made just for me._

He goes back to that evening in the bungalow when the five boys were sitting together talking about the best moments in their lives. He sees Louis’ eyes shine with delight when he admits with a shaky voice that he had also been at the same The Script concert that year. _But bear this in mind it was meant to be._

He goes back to the nights when he and Louis cuddled up on the sofa of their own flat to watch a movie. He sees Louis’ eyes droop as Harry draws patterns onto his cheeks, trying to soothe him. _And I’m joining up the dots on the freckles on your cheeks._

He remembers every single time he’s been in Louis’ presence. He remembers feeling like everything had clicked into place. _And it all makes sense to me._

Harry continues writing, even when there are tears falling down his face. He keeps writing until he’s exhausted and only then, he turns off the lamp and shoves his journal under his bed.

He forgets about it for half a year.

 

_March 2012_

It’s quiet in the flat these days, with Louis gone to visit his family in Doncaster. Harry sits in bed on his phone, tapping out a good morning text to his mum and Gemma when he gets one from Ed.

**_Ed (9.26): Mate!!! Guess who’s back? Back again?_ **

Harry grins, spirit lifted immediately.

_Harry (9.27): Shady’s back. He’s brought his ginger friend!?!?!?!!? .x_

**_Ed (9.27): Come over tonight!! We’ll drink and have a jam sesh. 6-ish?_ **

_Harry (9.28): Sounds brilliant. I’ll be there at 5.59 .xx_

 

In his haste to get out of bed, Harry drops his phone which falls through the crack between the mattress and the headboard. Groaning, he lies down on the floor and begins his search for his phone in the mess.

The first thing he pulls out is a tattered old notebook. Looking at the brown books instantly sends a flood of emotions through him. He would recognize the book anywhere, as it harbors one of his darkest secrets.

Phone forgotten, Harry sits up and crosses his legs. Heart hammering in his chest, he opens the journal and for the first time, he reads it with dry eyes. Cover to cover.

The poem at the end of the book seems incomplete to Harry, though. He notices, once he finally looks up, that it’s been an hour since he began reading his writing. He got lost in the memories.

Leaving the book on his night stand, Harry wanders off into the kitchen after retrieving his phone from under the bed (it was hidden behind an old sock). He changes into his workout clothes and puts on his trainers; then he heads off to the gym.

The whole time he’s there, Harry can’t get the poem out of his mind. He doesn’t want to leave it unfinished, thinks that maybe finishing it will give his heart some sort of a peace that he knows he’s been missing ever since he discovered that he’s in love with Louis.

When Harry heads home, he goes straight to his bed. Picking up the journal from his night stand as well as a pen, he begins writing. He makes changes and adds some things and it takes him for-fucking- _ever._ By the time he’s finished, it’s time for him to shower and head over to Ed’s. He takes the journal with him; he doesn’t _really_ know why.

“Hazza,” Ed cheers when he opens the door only to be met by Harry beaming face. “I’ve missed you, twat.”

Harry pushes through the door and hugs Ed, making sure to squeeze the life out of him. “’M surprised you didn’t forget about me, you international sensation.”

Ed rolls his eyes. “Look who’s talking, big shot.”

Chuckling, Harry says, “Gimme a beer and let’s have a chat, yeah? Haven’t properly talked to you in ages.”

“Seriously,” Ed nods, heading into the kitchen for a six-pack. “It’s been too long. We haven’t had a heart-to-heart in almost a year, I’d reckon.”

“Tell Dr.Harry what’s been on your mind,” Harry says pompously, sticking his nose in the air and stroking his imaginary beard.

Ed sighs and sits down across from him. After passing over a bottle to Harry, he kicks up his feet and examines Harry for a couple of minutes in silence. “You look tired as fuck, mate.”

Harry bites his lip and fiddles with his bottle before taking a large swig. “Well thanks,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. “Can’t say I’m not, though.”

“What’s been on your mind, little Hazza? You’re not in trouble, are you?”

Harry pulls off his beanie, shaking his hair out. “I’m not, don’t worry. I’ve just—been preoccupied.”

Ed raises his eyebrows.

“In my mind,” Harry continues. “M’thoughts are keeping me up.”

“Anything you wanna tell me, mate? I could try to help. I love you. You know that, right?”

Harry nods and tries to laugh. It comes off as a choked sob, though. He feels the tears welling in his eyes and he tries to breathe when he says. “I’ve fucked up, Ed.”

“Harry, you’re scaring me, you—“

“Read this,” Harry says, pulling out his journal from his pocket. He flips to the page with the poem. “Read this and you’ll get it.”

He hands Ed the open book before he can change his mind.

Harry tears the beer bottle’s wrapper gently with his fingers. He can’t bear the thought of gauging Ed’s reaction.

After what feels like five minutes, Harry looks up. He’s astounded to see that Ed looks shocked. His lips are slightly parted and his eyes are wide.

“Harry,” Ed begins.

“I can explain—“ Harry tries.

“No, Harry, _listen.”_ Ed’s voice is powerful, strong.

Harry finally meets the other man’s eyes.

“You—you _wrote_ this?”

Harry nods shakily.

“This is amazing,” Ed says, almost disbelieving. “Wow. I just. We have to write music for this.”

“We—what?” Harry asks, puzzled.

“Harry I want to _sing_ this. Let me. _Please.”_

Harry blinks, astonished. “Um. Sure?” He had not been expecting something like _this_ to happen tonight.

Ed takes a swig of beer and picks up his guitar from beside the sofa. “Right then. Let’s do this.”

Ed tries to come up with a melody for the song while Harry sits there and watches him, perplexed. He offers feedback and advice every now and then because it _is_ his song, but. Before he leaves that night though, he makes Ed promise him something.

“If anyone asks who wrote this, it was _you._ I had _nothing_ to do with it. It was all _you._ ”

Ed looks taken aback. “Harry, are you sure you don’t want—“

“Just. Just _please._ ” Harry pleads desperately. “If—if _he_ finds out I wrote it, he’ll know it’s about him.”

Ed smiles at Harry sadly. “I don’t know him as well as you do, Haz. But I knew it was about Louis the second I started reading it.”

Harry gulps and breathes in through his nose. “Promise me?”

Ed nods, pulling Harry in for a hug. “I promise.”

 

_May 2012_

“Harry,” Liam calls into the bathroom, knocking on the door. “Ed’s here! We’re gonna listen to his demo now.”

“Be right there!” Harry calls out, washing his hands and drying them quickly on his jeans. He opens the door and practically runs to their designated recording area. When his eyes meet Ed’s, he lets out a squeal of delight and jumps into his arms.

“Easy there, Styles,” Ed laughs. “We only just had dinner last week.”

“A week is too long,” Harry sighs. “I’ve missed you, Edward.”

Ed shoves off his friend, rolling his eyes. To the rest of the boys he says, “I’ll play the CD whenever you’re ready. I just thought it would be good to be here today so we could adjust some things and figure out what songs you guys want.”

Ed plays the demo a couple of minutes later. The boys go through a couple of songs, giving Ed feedback and compliments every now and then. They choose a few songs to consider and Harry is quite pleased with the whole ordeal.

Until, however, something happens.

“Okay, that’s it—“ Ed begins. He’s cut off by a familiar guitar introduction, though.

Harry’s eyes bulge out of their sockets.

“Wait,” Zayn says. “What’s this?”

The song continues and all six boys listen in silence. Ed looks shell-shocked. Harry looks like he’s seen a dozen ghosts.

When the last chord plays, Louis pipes up. “What was that?” He asks Ed, tone emotionless. If there hadn’t been complete silence in the room, no one would’ve even heard him speak.

“Erm,” Ed clears his throat. “It’s—a song. It’s called Little Things.”

“I—“ Louis breathes, looking pale.

“I wrote it a while ago,” Ed says, looking straight at Harry. “For my best mate. In sixth form.”

“Oh,” Louis says. “Wow.”

“We _need_ to have that on the album,” Niall pushes.

“Definitely,” Zayn nods. “That was beautiful.”

“I’ve never heard anything more real in my life,” Liam murmurs.

“Harry?” Louis asks, looking Harry in the eye suddenly. There’s a glint in there—a look that is difficult for Harry to read. “What do you think? Should we take it?”

“I—“ Harry coughs. “Yeah, erm. If you all like it, then. Yeah?”

Louis nods, not taking his eyes off of Harry. “Great then. We’ll take it, Edward.”

Harry can’t help but feel that something is _off._

 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol my feelings lol

_June 2013_

“Hazza? Mate? Open up,” Zayn calls through the thick, wooden door.

Harry, who’s texting Nick whilst lying horizontally on his bed, sighs and clear his throat. Rolling over, he makes his way to the door.

Unlocking it and pulling it back, Harry’s met with the site of Zayn and Louis waiting for him. Zayn looks impatient and Louis looks bored, staring down at his phone.

“What’s up?” Harry says, sniffling a bit. “Was about to go to bed.”

Zayn looks pained. “Sorry mate, can’t let you do that. It’s yours and Lou’s turn to record tonight, remember?”

Harry groans. “I thought that was tomorrow!”

Zayn shakes his head and shrugs, looking helpless with his big eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be too upset, Harold,” Louis quips, still thumbing at his phone. “If I remember correctly, there was a time when you used to rather enjoy being in my company.”

Harry blinks.

“Think you two should go,” Zayn says gently, giving Louis a wary look.  “Get it over with before it gets late.”

Harry nods and motions for Zayn to hold the door open. When the other boy does so, Harry turns on his heel and picks up his boots, shoving them on quickly.

“Whose room are we in?” Harry asks as he checks his pockets for his keycard and phone.

“They’ve got an extra room for us to record in,” Zayn answers, leading the other two down the hall. When they reach the last room, Zayn knocks. Then, “I’m gunna head to my own room. Knackered.”

“Night then,” Harry calls as Zayn walks away.

“See ya,” Louis waves.

Zayn smiles and soon disappears down the hallway.

Louis and Harry turn back when they hear a rustling behind the door. A moment later, one of the producers, Tim, pokes his head out.

“Oh good,” he says, relieved. “You’re here.”

“No shit,” Louis mumbles under his breath. Harry snorts.

“Right then, come in.”

Both boys follow the man inside, taking in the site of the transformed hotel room. All of the furniture has been pushed away, off to the sides so the center of the room is open and empty. Near the corner of a wall, there’s a makeshift recording booth set up, complete with a microphone that’s got headphones resting around it.

“So this is how it’s going to work,” Tim starts. “Harry, you’re up first. We’re recording _Story of My Life_ tonight so you’ve got the beginning and the main part of the chorus. Louis, you’ve got your part near the end. We wanted to do you two next since your harmonies are natural and don’t need too much work or instruction, so. Whenever you’re ready, Harry.”

Harry nods and walks to the microphone. Tim and the sound engineer direct him a bit about how to start and before Harry knows it, he can hear the backing track in his ears thanks to his headphones.

The beginning is easy. It’s when he gets to the chorus that he starts struggling.

“We’ve been over this, Harry,” Tim chides as Harry takes his headphones off. “You’ve got to put some _emotion_ into the song. You’re sounding too bland! It’s not all one single note, you know. You’ve got to make your voice powerful!”

Harry gulps, taking in a deep breath. He’s just so _tired,_ what with being on tour and all. He doesn’t know where he’s supposed to conjure up emotionfrom, especially when he’s been feeling so monotone, so inexplicably down _,_ for ages.

He just shrugs. He doesn’t really know what else to do. Staring at the microphone in front of him, Harry listens to the silence in the room. It’s ephemeral, as in a minute there’s a rustling sound.

Then, there’s Louis.

Standing in front of Harry, behind the microphone, is Louis.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, blue eyes worried. “Harry? You OK?”

Harry clears his throat, looking down at his hands and fidgeting with the headphones he’s holding. “Just tired.”

Louis puts his hand around Harry’s bicep, shocking Harry and, in turn, causing him to look up the older boy. It’s been way too long since Louis touched him in any way.

The contact almost burns.

“I know it’s hard, Haz,” Louis says quietly, his eyes searching Harry’s. “But c’mon, I believe in you. Think of your mum or something. Better yet, think of when you were a kid. Think of all that your mum _did_ for you.”

Harry shakes his head, throat closing up. “Can’t,” he gets out. “I’ll cry.”

Louis looks soft. He rubs Harry’s arm and murmurs, “Hold in your tears, lovely boy. Just channel that emotion of yours into the song.”

Harry nods. “I’ll try.”

“Better yet,” Louis smiles gently. “Sing it to me, Harry. Tell _me_ the story of your life.”

Taking a deep breath and ignoring the butterflies in his stomach, Harry puts the headphones back on. After giving a shaky smile to Louis—who is the only person Harry sees in the room—he thinks back to the Bungalow three years ago.

He thinks about how he and Louis, after the other three boys had fallen asleep, stayed up all night talking about their lives back home, their childhood. He thinks about the way Louis’ eyes shone in the moonlight, dancing with sympathy and something else, when he told the other boy about his simple life growing up with a single mum and an annoying older sister. He thinks about the way Louis’ entire face lit up when he told Harry about his time in Doncaster with _his_ mum and four little sisters.

He tries to put himself back in that position, in that night.

He looks into Louis’ eyes—the same beautiful eyes from three years ago—and _tells_ him.

_“The story of my life I take her home, I drive all night to keep her warm and time is frozen. The story of my life I give her hope, I spend her love until she's broke inside. The story of my life.”_

Louis’ beaming by the time Harry finishes. His eyes are shining now, shining with something Harry recognizes from that night under the stars those years ago.

“That’s how you _do_ it, Hazza bear,” Louis laughs, clapping Harry on the back when he steps away from the makeshift recording booth.

Harry blushes a little, grinning. “Thanks, Lou.”

They stay in the room for about an hour or so more, Louis working on his part and then, the two of them working on getting their harmonies down. It’s almost 2 AM when they leave the producers room, but they’re both pretty happy, wide awake.

“So,” Louis drawls as the two head down the hallway towards Harry’s room.

“So,” Harry chirps, swinging his arms by his sides.

“ _So,_ d’you wanna come back to mine for some room service?”

Harry bites his lip, eyes bright. He can’t help but think that it’s almost been a year since he and Louis hung out like _this._ Like properly alone when they weren’t being forced to. He clears his throat. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

“Great,” Louis grins, pulling Harry further down the hall. He shoves his keycard into the slot and pulls the door open as soon as they get to his room. Then, he’s pushing Harry inside.

“What d’you wanna have?” Louis asks, pulling out a beer from the mini fridge and chucking it at Harry.

“I’m feeling a cheeseburger and chips, to be honest.”

Louis moans in delight, sending a shiver down Harry spine. “Me too, ugh. I love pigging out at night. Well, technically morning, but--”

“Who cares,” Harry finishes, laughing and raising his bottle to toast. Louis does the same back, and they both clamber onto the unmade bed.

Picking up the hotel phone, Louis dials room service and places the order. Harry watches him the whole time, picking at the label of his beer absentmindedly. Louis is so beautiful, Harry thinks, under the dim glow of the lamp. Well really, he’s beautiful in any light, but especially beautiful to Harry when he can see the shadow of Louis’ lashes as they fan out. Harry sighs dreamily, tucking himself into a pillow. When Louis is done with the call, he does the same.

“Twenty minutes, ‘e said,” Louis says, taking a chug of his beer. “I’m starved though.”

“Me too,” Harry pouts. “Hope the wait is worth it.”

Louis hums, noncommittally. They sit in silence, watching the footy game on TV that Louis had put on mute before he called the kitchen.

It feels like years go by before Louis opens his mouth to speak. “I--” he starts, but then, he shuts his mouth again, furrowing his eyebrows like he doesn’t quite know what to say.  Harry watches him closely, waiting for him to continue his though after he has pieced it together.

“What’s your favorite song that we’ve recorded, Harry?” Louis asks finally.

Harry _hmphs,_ stumped. “Dunno,” he says eventually. “Like, maybe it’s _Story of My Life_? Yeah, probably is.”

Louis nods. “Cool, cool,” he says. “That’s my second favorite.”

Harry cocks his head to the side, confused as to where Louis’ going with this. Until—

“My all time favorite would have to be _Little Things,_ though.”

And, oh. _Oh._

He knows. Louis most _definitely_ knows.

“You know what bothers me, Harry?” Louis asks, twirling his almost-empty bottle in his hand while his gaze is fixed firmly on the match on TV.

“What?” Harry chokes.

“The fact that that story was basically my life at one point.” He takes a drink, raises an eyebrow. “No pun intended by the way.”

Harry feels pins and needles in his face.

“I just,” Louis laughs humorlessly, “I find it abso-fucking-lutely hilarious that we chose a song that just—seemed to tell all my _secrets_ , you know?”

Harry stutters, “L-Louis—“

Louis turns to Harry, eyes bright; upset. “You are a _coward,_ Harry.”

Harry reels backwards like he’s been slapped. “I—what!?”

“You wrote a fucking song—about me and my _secrets_ —and sold it to Ed who _sold it back to us!_ How could you—how could you _expose_ me like that!?”

Harry rises from the bed, pent up anger boiling up inside him. “ _Excuse_ me!? You have no right to call me out on this! I was only _inspired_! I’m allowed to right about whatever the fuck I want!”

Louis stands up too, putting his beer down forcefully. “Except me! You can’t write about me and my insecurities! You have no fucking right! That’s—that’s intrusion!”

“Fucking hell Louis,” Harry grumbles, rubbing his eyes. “Did you completely miss the part when I admitted to the whole fucking world that I’m in love with you!?”

Louis opens his mouth to make a retort but as soon as he comprehends Harry’s echoing words, his mouth slams shut. “I—“

“Yeah,” Harry exhales, feeling lighter than he has since the first time he laid his eyes on the boy in front of him.

Louis looks pained. “Harry—“

Harry shakes his head, vision going blurry. “Look, Louis. I should go. Um, eat my burger too okay? I’m not that hungry anymore.”

“Harry, wait.“

Harry licks his lips and says, “G’night, Louis,” before pulling the heavy door open and dragging his feet into the hallway.

He’s about to turn to leave when something grabs at his arm.

“For fucks sake, Harry,” Louis growls, pulling the younger boy back into the room. “Look at me, you big lug.”

Harry turns around, eyebrows raised.

“Why didn’t you _say_ something to me?” Louis whispers, bringing a hand to Harry’s face. He caresses Harry’s cheekbone with his thumb, looking soft and upset.

“I didn’t think I could face rejection,” Harry finally mumbles.

“And what had I ever done—before _Little Things_ , mind you--to imply that I would _reject_ you!?” Louis questions, looking at Harry like he’s grown another head.

“I mean,” Harry bites his lip. “I never—“

“You’re a doof, Harry Styles. If I had known you loved me too, then I would’ve never—“

“You _what_?” Harry says breathlessly, heart soaring.

“I love you, Harry.” Louis says sadly, licking his lips. “If I had known the feeling was mutual, I would’ve never pretended.”

“I’m tired of pretending, Lou,” Harry chuckles, bringing a heavy hand to the back of Louis’ neck. He brings the smaller boy closer.

“Yeah,” Louis sighs. “Yeah, Harry. So am I.”

The two inch closer and closer—

Until there’s a knock on the door signaling that their food has arrived.

They both pull apart suddenly, scared. Then, they start laughing. Laughing, and laughing _still_ as they intertwine their hands.

When they open the door moments later, smiling like goofballs, they feel as though they’ve never been happier. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm officially back!!!! bless your soul for reading this ily ily ily <333333333333
> 
> tumblr: txmlinsxn

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! feedback & kudos are much appreciated <3333
> 
> tumblr: txmlinsxn


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